Not letting go would be living a lie
by MyScarlettLady
Summary: I never thought we'd have a last kiss. A series of tales detailing Kurt and Blaine, how they loved each other and how they lost each other. Each is from a line from Taylor Swift's song 'Last Kiss'  the Boyce Avenue version . This is NOT a songfic.
1. Prologue

_I never planned on making you cry but not letting go would be living a lie ..._

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><p><strong>Last Kiss<strong>

It had been perfect. A perfect summer. A perfect couple. A perfect romance. The sort of perfect that you know came with a _happily ever after_ before you'd finished the words _Once upon a time._ Like all fairytales, they had been thrust together in the most unusual of circumstances. They had become friends, fallen in love, slain the dragon and shared a true loves kiss.

But something went wrong.

The hero had been strong and brave and kind and that had been their undoing. Doing the right thing had led him to topple down into the blackness, his lover's name falling from his lips as they watch on, horrified, as he slips further and further away until he is simply a speck and then no longer visible at all.

Gone.

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><p>So, any thoughts?<p> 


	2. I still remember the look on your face

_**I still remember the look on your face.**_

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><p>Pavarotti was dead.<p>

Gone.

His voice was gone and it had left him.

The little yellow bird had been fine, twittering away as Kurt whistled lilting tunes as if he were Snow White herself and a muffled thump later Pavarotti lay at the bottom of his gilded cage, unmoving and silent.

Kurt panicked. He had no idea what could have happened to the bird. He took better care of his canary than any other Warbler had, the council had told him so themselves when Kurt first accessorized Pav's cage with the Burberry-esque canary case cover and discovered that Blaine's own had been released by his mother whilst he was out because she hates birds and didn't want one in the house. Kurt had laughed long and hard at this, proclaiming in a teasing manner that Blaine was a fraud and shouldn't have been giving out canary care instructions to him when Kurt had fretted about Pavarotti's health during his first term at Dalton. Blaine had scowled back and replied in his best 'haughty Kurt impression' that he had still read up about canaries so that wasn't that sort of the same thing?

But when Kurt had burst through the practise room doors in his best Alexander McQueen mourning ensemble, it was a moment Blaine would never forget. Tears ran down Kurt's face as he revealed that his beloved bird had passed away and that he didn't care how silly it would seem to them but that he would mourn and remember the canary appropriately so he was going to sing for Pavarotti no matter what they thought. When he sang it was as if angels themselves were filing the room with their heavenly voices, Kurt sounded beautiful and Blaine saw how truly blind he had been. Like a flower locked away in a cupboard only to be let out into the sunshine, Blaine sat on the leather couch and drank in Kurt's words, his eyes never once leaving the boy in black's. He simply couldn't understand how he hadn't seen it before. The one he had been searching for for _so long_ was here in front of him and it was Kurt. It was as if a key had finally clicked in his head and now could think of nothing else. How beautiful Kurt looked. How stupid Blaine had been. How astonishingly he sang. How kind he must be, to be singing such a song for a small little creature. How pretty he looked, even with salty tear-tracks drying in patterns on his flushed rosy cheeks. All of that and more Blaine thought of in the smallest of seconds and his brain shut down and all he could think of was _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt_ and not that he should have been singing along.

The look on his face was plain to see to those who looked and saw. It was the look any man wore in that moment when he realises that here is the person who completes him in every possible way. It was love and hope and incredulity and a whole range of emotions which Blaine couldn't understand and they raced through him, flooding his body right down to the tips of his fingers and toes as he sat there and watched the boy who he now realised meant everything and more to him sing his heart out.

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><p>When Blaine first met Kurt on the main staircase in Dalton, he knew there was something slightly unusual about him. It wasn't because until a few seconds ago Kurt - the boy had told Blaine his name in a breathless, almost hesitant way - had been wearing sunglasses (<em>inside!<em>). It wasn't because at first glance he appeared to be in Dalton uniform but if you took just a little longer to look you'd notice the fitted jacket instead of the shapeless polyester blazer, the dark plain bondage shorts instead of pressed grey slacks or the knee-high shiny black Doc Martins. It was the scared, almost terrified look in his pale-blue eyes which Blaine hadn't seen in such a long time - since he'd looked in the mirror when he got home from the hospital to be precise. He was afraid and Blaine couldn't work out why. The boy's movements were fluid with a hint of stiffness, as if he were a little afraid of being noticed and at the same time, did not want to be pushed out of the way.

When the boy began to ask questions about the Warblers, Blaine figured that it would be a good way to cheer Kurt up a little by just showing him. Blaine was the lead singer, after all. Surely he could bring a friend along to watch if he wanted to.

So he reached out and grabbed the other boy's hand. And that was all it took.

The hand he clutched was soft and warm. The skin was smooth and perfect. The fingers he grasped bore none of the ugly calluses Blaine's did, but were pure and almost white; the nails filed smooth into pale round curves with little white crescents like the moon at their tips. He could feel the tiniest part of raised skin which was firmer than the rest under his palm. A small scar perhaps? He didn't stop to check but let his eyes flicker upwards to Kurt's before tugging him softly forwards.

And then they were running.

Blaine couldn't believe his luck. This boy was following him, hand in hand, down the corridor. He had no problem holding the hand of another male (of course, most students at Dalton didn't mind, and the fact that Blaine was gay made no matter to them either. But this boy wasn't from Dalton) and as such Blaine had expected some form of complaint by now. But he received none.

If anything, the hand gripped him as tightly as he was gripping it.

But then it was all over. They had arrived at the Senior Commons and Blaine was due to perform. He let go of Kurt's hand to open the door and _surprise surprise_ everyone else was here and were having to move the furniture out the way. He turned and saw that Kurt had a look of surprise and almost wonder on his face. Upon realising that people had noticed him there Kurt lamented, with a look of disappointment on his pale features that he would 'stick out like a saw thumb'. Knowing that he would never get this opportunity again, Blaine reached forward and untucked Kurt's blazer lapel from where it was trapped underneath the leather strap of the bag. His fingers rested briefly against the boy's breast and his heart fluttered inside his own ribcage.

"Next time don't forget your jacket, New Kid. You'll fit right in."

And with a stroke of the fabric and a quick turnaround he was gone, singing and dancing and having fun, all the while stealing looks across Kurt's way as he thought about the look on the Kurt's face when he had simply reached out and touched his hand.

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><p>I appologise for the (huge) delay in postings and can promise that there won't be such a large gap again. So for those who have stuck around I do hope that you enjoy.<p>

Let me know what you think or if there are any mistakes (we all make them!) Thank you.


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